A Pact Between Friends
by Talking Hawk
Summary: Frodo recalls a promise he made to Sam before going to the Grey Havens. Prequel to "Coming Back." No slash.


A Pact Between Friends  
  
By Talking Hawk  
  
Author's Note: Again, I haven't read any of the LOTR books, so I don't know "anything." Hehe, just assume that I'm taking artistic license.  
  
I sit in my rocking chair in the hobbit hole I live in at the Grey Havens. My feet are propped up in front of the crackling, comforting fire that could easily transport me from this hobbit hole to my one back in Bag- End. My youngest daughter, Maureen, is dozing quietly against my chest, and every once in awhile, she smiles. I'm relieved it's a happy dream. For too many years, I was plagued with nightmares of the stories I now tell my children. Some aspects of it frighten them, but they don't have the same scar in their minds as I have. For years, it's been mending myself, but about once a year, I wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the Morgul blade, or seeing Gandalf's face before he fell into the abyss in the Mines of Moria. I will never be free of the memories.  
  
Rubbing my hand soothingly against my daughter's bare arm, I lift my chin from her head of brown curls and look out the window. It was raining furiously, the heavy droplets splashing loudly against anything in their path. More than I think about those horrid bad times, I think about the people that made my life so happy. More than any other, I think of Sam. Mixed in with those wonderful memories of us in the Shire growing up, I also recall the times that he displayed an uncommon bond of friendship and loyalty with me. I realize now, that as a father, I would without hesitation give up my life for my children, he would have done the same for me in a heartbeat. And I, him.  
  
I lose myself while staring out the window. The memory of another stormy night filled the vision of my blue eyes, replacing my foothold in the present. I was no longer in my hobbit hole in the Grey Havens; I was in Hobbiton again.  
  
* * *  
  
Shouting voices outside were being muffled by the strong winds and heavy rains that night. I was reading a book quietly by the fire, but upon hearing the commotion outside, I set down my book and walked up to the window. I was eighteen, and it had been three years since my parents had died in a boating accident, and I had moved in with my Uncle Bilbo. I saw men hobbits wearing dark-colored coats with hoods, handing sand bags from one to another in a line, eventually setting it on a slowly growing wall along the sides of the street.  
  
The door slammed open, and the sound of two feet padding along the floor could be heard. The person was dripping enough to have a small storm of his own. I turned around, and the lightning from outside illuminated the figure. The man swept a wet hand over his head, removing the hood. It was Bilbo. I walked up to him and asked, "What's going on?"  
  
"The river is flooding," he replied breathlessly, walking past me down the hallway. I followed. "The mayor decided that we would try to save the houses by making a sort of canal down the street," Bilbo continued, picking up a shovel from a small closet. He turned back around to face me. "You stay here." I admit, the prospect of water did frighten me; a sort of phobia about it had manifested itself in my mind since my parents' death. But I was a headstrong tweenager, and I felt that it was my job to help.  
  
"I'm going with you," I told him, grabbing my coat. "No, you're not," he responded firmly, though he had not had much experience in arguing with me. "I live here too. I'm not just going to sit around and let it be destroyed," I responded. He turned to the door and said, "Our family has had enough funerals recently." My blue eyes saddened at the mention of my parents, and they began to glaze over. I didn't like thinking about them, honestly. The pain was still too new.  
  
The older hobbit turned around, a look of regret in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, my boy… I didn't mean…" I blinked my eyes, and shook my head to regain my composure. "I'm coming with you." Bilbo was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Come, hurry."  
  
* * *  
  
As opposed to each family of hobbits working on the wall of sandbags on their own house, everyone worked together in one yard at a time. Bag- End was already protected, and while the rest of the town worked on the house next door, Bilbo, the Gamgees, and I worked on the Gamgee's section of the wall. As I passed a sandbag onto one of the older Gamgee boys, the mother of the household began calling out, "Saa-am! SAM!"  
  
Blinking my eyes in surprise, I removed myself from the sandbag line and approached the woman. "What's wrong, Mrs. Gamgee?" "It's Sam, Frodo," she cried out hysterically. "He's gone!" I put my hands on her shaking arms, attempting to calm her. "Where did you last see him?" I asked. Sam was a three-year-old, I told myself. He couldn't have gone far. Even so early in his life, I had a special place in my heart for the tyke. Whenever I went for a stroll through Hobbiton, at some point in the road, he would spot me and follow quietly until I took notice of him.  
  
"He was with Hamlet," she told me, fright in her eyes. "But then he just disappeared. I thought he went next door, but I couldn't find him there either." "I'll find him," I assured her. "He'll be just fine."  
  
* * *  
  
I had been running across the yards in Hobbiton for what seemed like an eternity. Every few feet, I would stop, cup my hands around my mouth and shout out, "SAAAAM! Where are you?!" As I was searching for the young Gamgee, the wall of sandbags had risen as everyone got an adrenaline rush. "It's coming!" a faint voice in the distance yelled. I stopped, and a few seconds later, the first short wave of the flood flowed down the dirt road.  
  
"MUMMA!" a young voice suddenly cried out. My eyes widened as I saw a young boy crawl down the wall of sandbags across the street of the Gamgee house. The boy turned around as he made his way across the muddy road. "SAAM!" I shouted, running for the wall. The first wave of water hit his ankles, but his grinning face was set on the horrified face of his mother across the way. "SAAAAAM!" she screamed, trying to jump over the wall to grab her toddler, but the oldest Gamgee boy held her back. She continued screaming, kicking and waving her arms, trying to be released from her strong son's grasp.  
  
The other women watching began screaming too as the second taller wave of floodwater rose up, like the merciless hand of Death. In one sweeping motion, the four-foot high wave swallowed the boy whole. Almost immediately afterward, another wave followed, making the canal down the street of Hobbiton about six feet high – enough to drown a full-grown hobbit.  
  
I jumped onto the wall of sandbags, and threw off my raincoat. I hesitated, my phobia resurfacing in my mind, but I shut my eyes and shook my head furiously. I couldn't let my parent's death turn into Sam's. Finally, I dove into the flood's muddy water. It hit me like a wall of pain, each pore in my skin aching with its cold.  
  
I ignored my own pain, and began swimming down the large hobbit-made river. Suddenly, a curly-haired head bobbed out of the water before me. It was Sam, and he began waving his arms about in fright, trying to stay afloat. "Hold on, Sam!" I cried out, but the roar of the wind, rain, and river swallowed my voice. I stroked as quickly as I could towards him, trying to avoid sharp tree branches and other obstacles as I swam towards the boy.  
  
I finally grabbed the bundle of wet hobbit in my arms, and his fright was so great that when I pressed him to my chest, his little hands clung to my shirt, and my skin pinched painfully beneath. Sam shook in my arms, but before I could try to say something comforting, my eyes spotted a sudden drop in the water where a hill in the road must be. The speed of the current would surely pull both of us under, and I feared that we would never resurface.  
  
One arm around Sam, and the other splashing madly at the water, I tried to turn us around and swim away from the dangerous waterfall. It was no use. I looked behind in fright as we drew closer to the drop at a frightening speed. Suddenly, a piece of wood appeared before me, but I noticed it wasn't another log with sharp, bare branches sticking out to hook us, but a smoothed out, long staff. Within feet of the miniature waterfall, I seized the rod with my free hand. My hand grabbed the wet wood, but the current still had its hold on us. It ran by us, and small waves of water would flow over my head and threaten to drown me. The piece of wood rose up into the air.  
  
So did we. Before long, my feet were swaying about the tumultuous water's surface, and a shower of droplets dripped from my bare feet and brown curls, and the small bundle of hobbit I held in my left arm. I looked at the staff, then saw our savior. It was Gandalf the Grey, grinning as he set us down on relatively dry land. I plopped down on my rear gratefully, and Sam took this opportunity to begin crying. After gasping a few relieved breaths, I whispered to the bundle in my arms, "It's all right, Sam… Everything's okay now."  
  
"I jus' wanna hewp my bwothews!" he whined between his tears. I lifted the soaked hood up, and saw blondish curls plastered to his head. He looked up at me with his teary hazel eyes. "Why can't I be big boy wike you?" he asked in a childish tone.  
  
I couldn't help but smile and chuckle at the tyke. "You'll be big soon enough, Sam." The young hobbit frowned, having heard these words before from every older member of his family. "For now," I whispered, tapping his small nose lovingly with a finger, "I'll be there for you until you don't need me anymore. Okay?" The Gamgee smiled, and hugged my torso with his cold arms. I slipped my fingers beneath his wet curls, and shook them, sending droplets of water spraying outwards.  
  
After he finished his embrace, he looked up at me curiously and asked, "Why would I not need ya anymowe?" I shrugged my shoulders and said, "I guess when you tire of me." "That'w nevew happen!" he shouted, grinning and hugging me again. I couldn't help but smile.  
  
* * *  
  
It had been a handful of years since the destruction of the ring. Peace had been restored to Hobbiton and the rest of Middle Earth, and life as a whole was a pleasant experience once again. I had just recently put up Bag End for sale, and was rooming with my cousins Merry and Pippin. Merry was gone half the time with his new girlfriend Estella – whom I had STILL not met at the time – and Pippin was a lousy cook, so I spent most of my time hanging about Hobbiton and dropping in on Sam and his new little family. My scar hurt more frequently, and my strolls about the beautiful rural community I called home had grown shorter each day with my increasing tiredness, but life was good again.  
  
I walked down the dirt road, my bare feet skipping merrily along the warm earth. It was a relief to my skin that it no longer had to trudge through snow, or have to stand on top of cold stone. Walking upon cold stone floors brought back dreadful memories of Mt. Doom, and the long journey leading up to the ring's end. But the sun-warmed sediment only brought pleasant feelings to the soles of my feet.  
  
Soon, I came to the Gamgee hobbit hole. I stopped in front of the picket fence and grinned up at its old, worn scarlet door. Many a summer day during my childhood had I walked by this same door, and my ears would pick up the sound of a squeaking door and the scuffle of small feet. These feet would belong to the young Sam, who would at the very sight of me, drop everything and pursue me on my walk. I walked up the steps, and relished the door's old squeak as I opened it. Much too accustomed to the people inside, I forgot to knock, so I stepped inside.  
  
"Hello?" I called out, smiling as I caught sight of the five-year-old Eleanor skipping through the hall, wearing some sort of pixie costume. Her arms were out to her sides like wings, and she was wearing pink tights and a tutu, waving about a wooden wand. Upon catching sight of me, she stopped and smiled a toothy grin. "Uncle Frodo!" she cried out, and clung herself to my leg in a loving embrace. I smiled, and ruffled her long blonde curls with my hand. "What are you up to?" I asked as she giggled.  
  
"I'm Galadriel. Couldn't you tell?" "Oh, pardon me," I apologized, kneeling down to one knee, playing along. Making dramatic hand gestures, I bowed and said, "Please forgive me, my fair queen. How might I be in your humble service?" The young girl jumped up and down, thrilled at this special attention that only extensive "family" could give. "Get me a COOKIE!" she announced, tapping her starred wand on my shoulder.  
  
"No, no cookies until AFTER dinner," a voice came. It belonged to a fully-grown, grinning Sam in the doorway. He had his arms folded, and was leaning his right shoulder against the doorframe. "Oh, but Daddy!" Eleanor cried out with a smile. Chuckling at myself, I came to my feet again. "Your majesty," I addressed the girl, "if you are the queen, what makes your dad?"  
  
"The king," he answered, and Eleanor ran into his open arms, and he picked her up. "But that doesn't make any sense," she argued in the way none other than a five-year-old could argue. "Does it have to?" he asked, and proceeded to tickling her stomach. She kicked with laughter, and with a chuckle, the loving father set the squirming girl back down on the floor. Eleanor ran through the kitchen, and both of us followed.  
  
"How are things going, Sam?" I ask as I follow his lead into the kitchen. He sighs, and squats down in front of his youngest child sitting in a high chair. As I gaze at the boy before my friend, it still awes me that he would actually name something, or even someone, after me. Young Frodo, contradicting his name, was the spitting image of his father. His small one-year-old fists clutched the sides of his small table as he dodged his head just as his father was going to insert a spoon of baby food in his mouth.  
  
He shakes his head at his son, then looks up at me. "Okay, I suppose. Rosie and I are still trying to get little Frodo to talk." "Taba!" the child shouted, realizing that we grownups were talking of him. Sam smiles and wipes the boy's cheeks where past feeding attempts had landed, and then takes the toddler into his arms. Frodo laughs happily, and Sam proceeds to bouncing him in his arms, creating the image of a hobbit bouncing on a pony's back.  
  
After watching the pair for several moments, I hold out my arms, indicating that I wish to hold the boy now. Sam complied, then dashed off to the other end of the kitchen to prevent Eleanor from nearly successfully snatching a cookie out of the cookie jar. He picked her up off the stool she was kneeling on, and set her down on the floor saying, "Now, Eleanor, what did I tell you?" "That ELANOR couldn't have any cookies," she replied with a sweet smile. "You didn't say anything about the QUEEN." Sam smiled and rolled his eyes. "Well, the same goes for the queen," he says, doing that thing where he pretends to steal her nose. His daughter giggles and slaps the fake thumb in his fist.  
  
I wretched smell then filled my nose, and my smile faded from my lips. I looked down at the young hobbit in my arms, and goo-gooed innocently. I peeked down the back of his diapers, then glanced up at Sam with a twisted expression on my face. "Um…I think it's time for a diaper change." My friend nods, and takes the baby back into his arms. "I'll be back in a minute." Mr. Gamgee disappeared into the next room, and Frodo began crying loudly.  
  
A moment later, Sam reappeared into the kitchen, having finished changing his son's diapers. Tears were now rolling down Frodo's cheeks as he continued to scream incessantly. I saw the patience wearing out of my friend's face as he pulled Eleanor off the stool again, trying to get the cookie jar while I wasn't looking. The front door then knocked, and as Sam walked through the kitchen, he thrust his son into my arms and said, "Here."  
  
I glanced from Frodo to his father, feeling a little awkward. I always felt this way when things became a little crazy in the Gamgee household; I never knew when to be a disciplinarian and when to just be the parent's friend. I suppose there's some grey area you have to fit into when you're around your friend's kids.  
  
Sam opened the door, and it turned out to be his wife. She had a tired smile on her face, and she told her husband, "I have groceries. Would you help?" After hugging Rosie, Sam nodded and disappeared outside the door to retrieve whatever she had bought at the market that day. Little Frodo's tears had silenced as I bounced him up and down on my hip as Sam had done only minutes ago. The exhausted wife plopped herself down on a couch in the living room as my friend came in, carrying what seemed like tons of food. Sam wasn't the smallest hobbit in town, but I certainly didn't think he, and his family, ate that much food.  
  
He lifted the bags stiffly into the kitchen and began putting the items away, and seeing him bent over, Eleanor tried jumping onto his back. "Piggyback ride, Daddy!" she cried out, and Sam gently pushed her off his back. "Not now, honey…" he said with a sigh, and preceded to emptying the grocery bag. I attempted to do what I could to help with my free hand, but then stopped when I felt a slight tug on my shirt.  
  
I looked down at the Gamgee boy, and he stared straight into my eyes with his large, hazel eyes, just as Sam had done the night of the flood. I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of peace that the world would have another Samwise Gamgee roaming the earth. As my mind slipped into memories, little Frodo did something I never would have expected…  
  
"DADA!" he suddenly cried out. My eyes flashed, my mind returning to the present. I blinked down at the boy, not sure what I had heard. Behind me, Sam froze, having been in the process of putting a bundle of carrots up in the wooden cupboard. "DADA!" he repeated, eyes glimmering with sweet innocence. I began stuttering nervously, not knowing what to do with a child that thought I was its father when I so obviously wasn't.  
  
As I kept stuttering the word "I," I looked at horror from Sam's startled, and suddenly sad, face to Frodo's joyful one. Rosie slowly came into the kitchen. "Did he say 'Dada'…?" Rosie asked slowly, her blue eyes round with surprise. Seeing my timid, stuttering face, she knew it was true.  
  
I turned swiftly to Sam, and his face was now stern. He stood up tall, his thick shoulders back. With the coldest, and possibly the angriest, look I have ever seen him have, he said, "Frodo, I think you should leave." I gulped in apprehension, and quickly handed over the child to his mother. I stumbled out of the kitchen, and as her husband passed by her, she whispered, "Sam, don't…"  
  
I walked unbalanced down his front steps, and nearly fell onto the green grass in my haste. I spun around as the angry hobbit closed the door quietly behind him, and approached me. "Sam…" I said weakly, cowering in fear.  
  
"You can't always be barging into my house!" he roared at me. I winced at his harshness, and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen…" He threw his arms up into the air in frustration. "Why do you have to BE HERE all the time? Don't you have ANYTHING ELSE BETTER to do than making my children think that you're their REAL father?" "But they don't think that!" I argued, but his angry face towered over mine as I shrunk back.  
  
"Then why did Frodo call you 'Dada'?" he demanded. "He's just a baby!" I yelled back, but still cowered slightly. "He doesn't know any better!" Sam huffed with something resembling hatred, "JUST GO AWAY!" My eyes widened, and he waved his arms furiously. "You heard me! GO!" I blinked for a moment, but not seeing his face soften, I slipped out of his front gate, like a wild dog with his tail hid between his legs.  
  
* * *  
  
I sat inside the hobbit hole's living room. Merry and Pippin weren't there when I arrived, nor have they returned. I was relieved, for I had done nothing but sit pathetically within the circle of light the fire omitted and weep. The hour was after dusk, and I hugged my legs for solace.  
  
Not only did my thoughts rest on the fight Sam and I had had, and his words that stung like butcher knives, but my thoughts eventually drifted to related issues. I sadly realized, during my trance, that this afternoon will most likely be the only time that anyone will call me "Dada," or anything similar. I had no girlfriend whatsoever, consequently no wife, and also consequently, no children of my own. I had always taken it for granted that Sam's children were mine in some odd way, the events of today has only proved to me that I can no longer keep this mind frame.  
  
My scar ached as my chest trembled with another sob. I had no children, and my parents were gone. I know that crying about it forty or so odd years later wouldn't solve anything, but I had the sudden desire to crawl into my mother's lap and cry like a babe. The way I looked at it, I had no future, and no past to dwell upon. Both seemed to have been sliced at with a dagger mercilessly, torn to shreds. There wasn't any hope in me retrieving my parents from the dead, and it seemed impossible that I could ever find a woman that would love me and be willing to care for me while this scar eventually killed me. Even if such a woman existed, it wouldn't be fair for her to see me dwindle into nothingness during the last years of my life.  
  
Just as my thoughts began to wander onto the subject of death, I heard the front door creak open. I lifted my wet eyes from my equally soaked pants to see who it was. Somehow I was surprised to find Sam's sad eyes and remorseful face poke out from behind the round door. I wanted to shrink away before he could find my pitifully weeping body, but he spotted me before he had the opportunity.  
  
"Mr. Frodo…" he said as he closed the door behind him. I frowned, and lowered my head back into my knees. "Yes?" I whispered hoarsely, wanting nothing more than to crawl under a rock in shame at this very second. He frowned also, and sat down before me on the wide rug. "I'm so sorry about what I said…" he whispered sadly. "I didn't mean it." "I know, Sam," I replied weakly. "It's okay…"  
  
He shook his head sternly and replied, "No, it wasn't right for me to say such things. You've been a good friend to me much too long for me to be so easily forgiven after saying such horrid things." He searched for one of my hands, so that he might squeeze it gently in apology, but I slipped them out of his reach.  
  
"No, you were right," I said with a sigh. Sam lifted an eyebrow in questioning, then said, "No, I wasn't. I speak nonsense when I'm upset." For the first time, my teary eyes met his hazel ones. A great sadness penetrated from them, and made me shudder. I turned my frail gaze from his rock-solid one. "I think that nonsense was right," I said, then continued on before he could argue. "I have been bothering you too much, even when this wretched scar isn't forcing you to nurse me back to health." I frowned, and ran my hand over the part of my chest the scar laid. It hurt at the touch.  
  
"It's all right," he said, his eyes brimming with tears. I sighed, and said, "I'm afraid you're far too dear and loyal of a friend to realizing how I'm taking advantage of you and your family." I paused, and continued, "Because I never had a wife and child of my own, I have all of you fill that void… It's not right, because it should be you, instead of me, who gets to spend all that time with them." I looked into Sam's eyes and said, "You're their father. I'm not."  
  
He seized this second opportunity to grab my hand, and succeeded. As I predicted he would, he squeezed it gently in his strong, earth-beaten hands. "You're their Uncle Frodo. You have the right." "No," I responded, shaking my head, "I don't." With a sad laugh, I said, "I'm not even their real uncle." "But it's just fine!" I cried out. "Really, it is. They don't think I'm any less of a father because you're around." I sighed, and shook my head slowly in exasperation. "But they're only children so long… You have only so many memories with them, and it's like I'm stealing those memories from your grasp."  
  
Sam opened his mouth to respond, but I stood up in opposition. "I'm leaving for the Grey Havens tomorrow morning," I said as my heavy feet plodded out of the room. "I'll see you at dawn. You'll be my traveling companion." With that, I left the silent Gamgee alone in the living room.  
  
* * *  
  
After packing my things all night, it was the most difficult morning I have ever had to face. I left a note for Pippin and Merry to ride separately to the beach from Sam and I so that they could accompany him back, and with my bag of things, I left their hobbit hole.  
  
Easily the most difficult goodbyes were to Eleanor and Frodo. Eleanor cried furiously, and begged me why I had to go. Somehow, I managed to console her gently without my eyes shedding my own tears. She was too young to ponder why sometimes grown men cry. Saying goodbye to little Frodo was somewhat easier, for no sad words begged me to stay came from his lips. Only his round, hazel, innocent eyes shone up at me. I kissed him lightly on the forehead, and handed him back over to his teary-eyed mother. I kissed her on the cheek, and gave her the best smile I could muster without weeping with her.  
  
With that, Samwise and I left Hobbiton, my dear home. We walked for two days and a night, and few words still were spoken between us. As we began walking over sandier hills than we have previously encountered, he began singing "The Road Goes On."  
  
I smiled sadly at the familiar song of my Uncle Bilbo's. Even though I know we would be reuniting with him, Gandalf, and several old friends, I felt as if he were a deceased loved one, long ago swept away from my grasp. His song created a sense of sadness within my breast, but Sam smiled weakly at me in understanding.  
  
"You'll be seeing him soon enough," he said gently in a way that no other than he could have pulled off better. "C'mon, for an old time's sake," he pleaded. I sighed, and rather than a protest, the rhymes flowed from my lips. He smiled with his innocently wise hazel eyes, and sang along with me.  
  
* * *  
  
"It's time!" an unfamiliar elf cried out. Sam stood on the beach, and Pippin and Merry had just arrived upon finding the note. Looking over at the boat nervously, I said, "Farewell… All of you, take care." My cousins nodded, and took me up in a tender hug that was shortly lived. Pippin wiped his eye, and Merry wrapped his arm around his shoulders. I nodded to them, and stepped before Sam. After staring down at my toes sinking beneath the wet sand, I looked up sadly into his eyes. "Goodbye…" I whispered, and his face tensing with emotion, he nodded quickly. My face followed suit, and slapping a hand over my mouth, I turned around and ran for the boat.  
  
After several minutes, all the elves, Gandalf, Bilbo, and I were seated on the boat. I sighed, and set my backpack and my bottom down on the bench closest to the stern hanging over the dry part of the beach's sand. Hesitantly, I looked over the side, and saw Pippin trying to comfort Sam as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.  
  
A deep sadness emitted from my soul, and flowed through my veins. Seemingly off in the distance, the elf cried, "Lift the anchor!" In a trance, I watched my three friends standing on the beach, and I was beginning to drift from their lives with the boat and their tears. A look of horror overcame my face, and I turned around in my seat. "STOP! STOP THE BOAT!" I shouted. The elf stared at me in shock as I ran across the boat, and down the ramp. Half the people on the ship hung over the side to see what was going on.  
  
I jumped over the surface of the shallow water, and trudged through the wet sand and the heavy water. Finally, I made it to Sam's arms. "Sam!" I cried out, looking into his eyes, frightened. "I'm not mad at you! Honest to goodness, I'm not." He smiled, and new tears sparkled in his eyes. Even though he wouldn't admit it if I asked him, relief shown in those tears. "Oh Sam," I said, a sob coming on. "I love you like I could never love another friend. I will miss you so…" My throat clenched with tears, drying my heart-felt words before they could escape my lips.  
  
"I love you too, Mr. Frodo," he said, and embraced me again. When he gazed into my eyes again, he said, "If you ever do find a woman lucky enough to have you in that wondrous place, I know that you will make a wonderful father." These beautiful words filled my heart with happiness, but at the same time, dread that I would have to leave such a devoted and loving friend.  
  
"Oh, Sam," I said, looking down at my wet feet. "I don't want to go." He put a hand on my shoulder, and sternly said, "But Frodo, you must. It's the only way you could live with that horrible scar…" Tears began to brim from his eyes once more, and he said in a choked voice, "There will be people there to care for you until the end of your days – much better than I ever could." "Not true!" I cried out in a cracking voice. It was like puberty all over again.  
  
Samwise, my former gardener, shook his head. "Don't worry about us, Mr. Frodo. We'll be just fine." I honestly thought he was a mind reader. That was what I was really worried about, and he could read the subtlety beneath my words that vaguely gave the clue. "But…" I protested weakly.  
  
"You get back on that boat," he ordered, pointing to it. "You'll be much happier in the Grey Havens. Now, hurry up." He was talking to me like I was Eleanor, trying to escape bedtime. I wasn't going to take this sitting down…  
  
"But my promise!" I argued as he pushed me in the boat's direction as I resisted. Sam stopped, and I grabbed his arms. "I said I would always be there for you, and I intend to keep that promise!" I scrutinized his face, and he smiled weakly. With a gulp, he said, "Oh, but Mr. Frodo, I'm not a little boy anymore. I don't need you to take care of me anymore… I need to make sure that YOU'RE going to be taken care of." I opened my mouth to protest, but after sighing heavily with trembling nerves, he thrust me over his shoulder. "Back onto the boat!" he said as he carried me back on. As I tried to protest, he sat me down next to Bilbo, and ran down the ramp of the boat.  
  
* * *  
  
I blink my eyes, and suddenly realize that I was in my hobbit hole in the Grey Havens again. I sigh, and look down at the little hobbit curled up against my chest. I caress her long curls, and smile sadly. Even though she had little to no resemblance to Sam, I could see a bit of him in her. Or maybe it was just that I searched desperately in each person I met for a hint of their "Sam gene."  
  
I look out the window again. It had stopped raining, and I smile again, eyes twinkling in the fire's light. "I still need you, Sam…" I whisper, and begin rocking my daughter in that chair again. 


End file.
